A Touch of the Green Eye
by LJ1983
Summary: Pre Hellseeker. Pinhead, all alone, finds himself in quiet contemplation over his human obsession Kirsty Cotton, and the insipid human man she is taking for a husband, but why should he be so murderously jealous? One shot.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hellraiser. No copyright infringement intended. Rated M for safety reasons.

**Note:** This is my belated birthday present to a good friend of mine Sigyn Gray, previously known as ErinHiddlestoner. She had expressed such desire to see a Jealous!Pinhead fic, and I knew I couldn't refuse. :) Enjoy!

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If you enjoyed this story and want to know more about my work, then you can like the LJ1983 Facebook page.

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><p><strong>A Touch of the Green Eye<strong>

It was of those rare occasions in where Xipe Totec; the Dark Prince of Pain, Leader of Cenobites and Leviathan's chosen one, had found the time to sit within his airy and cold chamber in quiet contemplation, brooding and musing over his past failures in acquiring the one true soul that had captured his attention so long ago: the one he un-quenchingly longed to reap for just a little over the past decade.

The wintry face cut into a symmetrical grid like pattern and pierced by many gleaming silver pins; the very face belonging to that of the Dark Prince, also commonly known as Pinhead to the arrogant humans suffering in the torturous depths of Hell, was creased with such intense conviction as his thoughts relentlessly dwelled on her: the one foolish and brave enough to look him dead in the eyes and boldly offer him the soul of her absconded evil uncle, and then mere days later remind him of his former humanity. It was a move which had proved most deadly to him and his subordinates.

But that was when the true obsession began.

So many years had passed since those encounters with the seemingly innocent young girl who went by the name of Kirsty Cotton. Pinhead did not possess the ability to measure the passing of time, though his very mind had remained fixed to Kirsty's fragile and tainted soul, like a personal tagging, since the moment of his rebirth. He had never lost sight of this orphaned, traumatized girl...this young teenager on the cusp of womanhood at the time of their first meeting; the one with the unbidden, concealed deep desires. She did not know of them, but oh how he could smell the unmistakable stench of dark wonder and curiosity on her.

He was aware of her hidden desire of him, the desire that screamed from the very corner of her soul. A few given moments in her company, his mind had brushed past some random thoughts in hers - of them together in the act of passionate copulation. She had mistaken her arousal for him as being that of fear, or rather her subconscious mind had cleverly concealed her passion and desire for him and dressed it up as fear.

This was her fantasy, her wish.

But she had always been so stubborn and in denial, something which had attracted him to her more.

He often wondered now, sat alone in his dark and lonely chamber, if Kirsty, now an fully grown woman, would even want to pursue those desires which had been sparked following their early meetings. Or would she be in such stubborn reluctance still?

In the beginning, he had been initially bored of his calling, his very role as explorer of flesh, instigator of torture and bringer of pain, before his meeting with the Cotton girl. His existence had been nothing more than routine and order in a perpetually dark world. A world where pain and pleasure were weaved and mingled into one clear sensation. Every single soul was the same as the next; it had truly become such a chore. He craved a much longed desired challenge. Then, to his surprise, came the child with hair so untammable, eyes so vividly brown and widened in both fear and fascination of him. So seemingly innocent. A little lamb amongst the lions. She had opened the box, though remained in strong denial that Hell was what she wanted. However, somewhere within that exquisitely pliable flesh beat the heart of darkness; he could smell it even then. There was an insatiable thirst inside of her that had been ignited by the small spark of trauma, and it still continued to burn even after all this time.

How he longed to harvest that darkness, to draw it out and taste it; to sample the rare blend of innocence and sin her soul held. He ached to teach her the finer points of pleasure and pain, the sort that eliminated the pitiful human definition. His fantasies, such forbidden dreams that plagued him repeatedly at every opportunity, would revolve around her lying naked before him, completely vulnerable and at his mercy, bending to his will and offering herself to him in acceptance of the fate she was destined for. Her very flesh would be the fine piece of wood being carved and braided to meet his tastes, and remade by his hand, made into something much more beautiful.

He yearned to tear her apart, and remake her - one piece at a time. He wished to savour the delightful screams which would come from her, such screams mixed with agony and rapture all in one moment in time. To envision her gazing up into his eyes; his fathomless dark as night and gleaming with such indifference, and hers so deeply brown and bright with doe-like innocence - but enlightened with such gratitude toward him for his teachings and undivided attention.

He could imagine his blue as ice lips brushing and melding together with her red as rose, rouge lips in a deep and bruising possessive kiss, an act where fire and ice could co-exist in perfect harmony; a despicable human thought but welcome all the same. With a kiss he could still mark what he believed belonged to him.

He imagined the kiss would move on to something more powerful; the act of intercourse she secretly longed to happen. The act where pain and pleasure would marry and intermingle and become one. And it wouldn't be gentle either. He would never allow it, and he was certain that she felt as he did. The feeling of the well sought for explosive climax between him and Kirsty was something he also so much wished to experience that he could practically taste it, to hear her scream out his name and beg him for more of his not so tender administrations.

He could then finally reap what makes her her, and transform her into the leather clad creature she would most likely become - his consort, where then together they would govern Hell with such strong commitment and determination; side by side for all eternity.

But now, his thoughts never having ever left hers, he could sense her soul slowly and gradually moving from his senses - and that future he had for such a long time yearned to come was beginning to morph into such a hopeless pipe dream.

Kirsty was happy; happy as she had ever been in such a long time.

Pinhead could sense her thoughts and feelings, always once persistently dwelling on the traumas of her past, of the Cenobites...of him, slipping steadily between his possessive fingers like coarse sand. Her soul, once tagged to him and him alone, was becoming attached to that of another.

Kirsty had met with a man, one whom it would seem very possible she would take for a mate.

An unknown feeling had begun to bubble up within Pinhead's gut, a feeling he had not in so long felt. It was slow burning, infuriating, distracting. Something which had forced him to briefly lose what had made him so calm, cool and patient. He would sit there, the countless and numberless days in his detached little world, brewing and stewing in this unknown rage which would taunt and tease him whenever he thought of her...together with this fool.

His hand would tighten the grip he had on the sharp tool he'd been sharpening, and the blade would slice into his chalky white flesh without any hint or acknowledgment of pain written on that hardened stone cold face, since he was too deeply enmeshed in such frighteningly thoughts of possessiveness and being cheated out of such a promising investment.

How had this insipid, lesser mortal man, this piece of filth, lured such a rare and beautiful jewel such as Kirsty Cotton? How did he dare to even touch her flesh? To touch what he had marked as his own, to violate what had rightfully belonged to him and him alone from the moment of their first meeting so long ago in that small, pokey little hospital room?

Kirsty Cotton was slipping ever more from his grasp, and there was nothing he could do about it.

And now, in a moment of unbridled fury, Xipe leapt to his feet and unleashed a strong roar of pained anger, tossing his knife across the room and watching as it smashed against the faded stone walls and broke into two pieces.

The shattering noise only brought calm to him but for a brief moment, and in that one moment he had time to finally realize the emotion he had allowed to utterly consume him until he had lost everything that had made him so stoic and calculating was that of jealousy.

Intense burning jealousy.

He - the Prince of Pain - was allowing himself to be overcome by such a disgusting human emotion that he never believed he would ever feel, and toward a lesser human male who had stolen what - he believed - was rightfully his.

But Kirsty Cotton did belong to him, this mere and fragile human man had no right to claim what he had placed his mark on so long ago.

Again, with such a strangling human and whimsical emotion of jealousy plaguing him again, he pounded his balled fist against the wall repeatedly - envisioning the stone to be that of his considerable human rival, making him pound even harder until his knuckles were skimmed and bloodied. His hand buzzed with the agonizing ache as he managed to calm himself and sit upon his throne, taking pleasure from the pain and attempting to blot out the despicable feeling of envy. But the physical agony only brought him brief pleasure, and very little comfort.

However, it was all not so completely hopeless as Xipe originally thought, for Trevor Gooden - the man with whom Kirsty was choosing to become her consort - too had a soul which reeked of lust, greed and sin. Such attributes which screamed for the pleasures of Hell, and had vaguely reminded him of a certain lustful Uncle of Kirsty's.

Xipe had clearly smelt it on him the moment he and Kirsty joined together, but he had not seen the benefits till now.

At once, as the realization hit him, Xipe began to calm himself and even allowed for a cunning smile to weave its way through his lips. A plot was beginning to unfurl in his mind now, though it would take a few years to come into fruition.

But if there was one thing Xipe had on his side, it was time. And an endless supply of patience. His anger and jealousy over the union which was proving to be such a distraction could be controlled in time, he reasoned.

Oh yes, in no time at all, the Gooden boy would be lured to the Lament, proving himself to be a more than suitable bait for Kirsty Cotton, and finally his one true, heavily desired soul would be his.

For all eternity.

All he had to do now was to wait...

_**The End...**_


End file.
